I don’t go to Boylston.

I found an address in Cambridge for the Sojourn Center on my phone and gave it to the driver as soon as I was settled into the back of the car. We pulled up in front of a stately-looking brick building with a wide porch and white-washed columns way sooner than I was prepared for.

“Am I waiting, ma’am?”

I jerk my gaze away from the front of the building, shaking my head. “No.” I open my door and get out before can protest. “Thank you.” I toss the last of it over my shoulder, barely sparing him a glance before I climb the porch steps and let myself inside.

Inside, the building is and interesting mixture of new and old. Restored hardwood and original crown moldings, coupled with gleaming glass and automatic doors. Stopping at the information desk long enough to check in, I follow the directions the attendant gave me, Taking the elevator to the third floor, I find Ryan’s room. Hand poised on the door handle, I take a deep breath. Declan said he was badly injured. That there’ve already been multiple surgeries to save his leg. Skin grafts to reduce scarring. That he’ll never had children. That he’s suffered long-term memory loss. I’m suddenly afraid of what’s I’ll find on the other side of the door.

Your brother.

That’s what you’ll find on the other side of the door.

Your brother.

I push the door open to find the room empty.

I stand there, for a moment, wondering if I have the wrong room. Maybe the attendant—

There’s the sound of a toilet flushing seconds before the door directly across from me opens. “I said I don’t want to play today, fuckface. Go bother that cute—” Ryan stalls in the doorway, the rest of whatever he was going to say getting stuck in his throat. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He just stares at me.

I look down at myself and instantly feel ridiculous. Vintage Chanel dress under my Gucci coat. Louboutin pumps, despite the cold. Jeremy’s pearls around my neck like a collar. His ring shackled to my finger.

I should’ve gone to the apartment to change before coming here.

“It’s Henley.” I say it because I don’t know it he recognizes me. If I were him, I wouldn’t know who I was. I’d see a total stranger.

“I know who you are.” It comes out hard, like an accusation. “I have brain damage, I’m not blind.”

“I didn’t mean—” I shake my head. “You haven’t seen me since…” I lift a hand to my nose, touching it for a moment before dropping it again. “I look different. That’s all I meant.”

“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t look like he believes me. “Shouldn’t you be drinking champagne or off buying diamonds or some shit?” He throws the towel in his hand on his messy bed before taking a slow step through the doorway, leaning a cane I hadn’t noticed until now.

It’s nothing different than what he’s said to me a hundred times before. He’s always teased me about the money. The life of privilege I’ve lead since our mother separated us. But the way he says it now is different. He’s not teasing anymore.

He’s angry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I tell him, as I watch him walk. It’s a slow, painful process. He looks like he’s on the verge of collapse and I feel myself lean into the space between us, ready to throw myself under his arm to keep him from falling. “No one told me—”

“Then how’d you find out?” He finally makes his way to the chair by the window and eases himself into it slowly, like an old man.

“Excuse me?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “If no one told you, then how’d you find out?” He says it slowly. Like I’m the one with cognitive issues.

That’s when I get it. When I understand.

“You don’t want me here.”

He doesn’t answer me. He just stares out the window. “Why?” I practically shout it, the volume of my voice instantly shaming me. “Why didn’t you want me to know?” I rush at him my heels clicking fast across the hard linoleum floor to stand over him. “I’m your sister, Ryan—you’re my brother.”

He looks up at me and shrugs. “So?”

“So? So?” I feel my knees wobble a little before they give out completely, my hand flailing behind me and I find the arm of the chair behind me before I collapse completely. “So you’ve developed a habit of keeping things from me—important things—and I want to know why.” I slide into the chair, pressing my knees together, clasping my hands around them. “Why didn’t you tell me about Dad?” I feel my chin start to tremble and I have to clench my jaw to keep from crying.

“I told you I didn’t want you coming here.” He looks at me, jaw set and stubborn.

“Why?” I shake my head, refusing to accept his answer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you to wait for me.” He swipes an angry hand over his face. “You wouldn’t listen. You never fucking listen.”

When I don’t answer him, when all I do is wait for his answer, he turns toward the window again. “How many of your friends know you have a brother?”

I don’t have friends. I have acquaintances. I have people I associate with. People who smile and air-kiss my cheeks while silently judging everything about me, from my shoes to my hair. But I know what he means. I understand what he’s asking me.

“None.” I hate saying it. I hate that I’ve allowed my mother to erase him but it’s true and he deserves to hear it, even if it hurts. “No one knows about you.”

“Because mom refuses to acknowledge me.” He laughs a little. “Because she took you and left me behind. Didn’t want me.”

“Ryan…” I shake my head because I don’t know what else to say.

“He’s a lousy drunk and the shittiest father on the planet but he was our father.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Jack was the only thing that connected us. The only thing that made us family. Without him, what are we, Hen?”

“We are family, Ryan.” I insist, reaching for him. I close my hand over his and he lets me. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t look at me either. Doesn’t believe me. “Let me talk to Spencer. We’ll get you transferred to a facility in New York. Somewhere close by.” The plan tumbles out, faster than I can form it. “Maybe an apartment. We can—”

“No.” He pulls his hand from mine, his gaze finds me face, flat and dull.

“What?” I feel my spine jerk straight. “I—” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “We’re family, Ryan. I want to help you. Take care of you.”

“The way you took care of Dad?” His mouth quirks, fast and ugly. “Cleaned him up when he pissed himself. Kept him from choking on his own puke. Dumped his bottles down the drain after he passed out.” He flattens his mouth and for a moment, looks so much like our mother I feel my heart twist a little in my chest. “What are you gonna do? Fit in weekly visits between your luncheons and your spa days? Maybe if I’m lucky, you’ll introduce me to your friends. Tell them all about your long lost, brain-damaged brother who got his shit blown off.” He stops talking, the muscle in his jaw twitching and clenching.

“She didn’t take me with her because she loves me.” I reach for him again but this time he pulls away. “She took me because I was weak.” Looking up at him, I find him watching me. “Because even though I hated her, I needed her to love me.”

For a few painful moments, neither of us say a word. Neither of us look away. Finally, he cracks. “I have physical therapy in a few minutes.” Ryan’s gaze slides away from mine and finds the window again. “You should probably go.”

I realize it’s something we’ve always done. Push each other away. Hold each other at a distance. We say we love each other but don’t really know what that means.

We want to love each other but we can’t.

Not really.

No one ever showed us how.